“Yes. My brother just called.” Madrid’s brother was head of the Bank of Guatemala. “It gets worse. It’s going to be eight to one,” Antonio said, looking at him.

“Jesus!” He was still reeling from leaving Katherine at the airport. Russell went to a space on the couch and sat down between the would-be minister of the interior and a young woman who was slated to be minister of defense. If Madrid was elected, she would be the first woman in Guatemalan history to hold the post.

Russell didn’t think they had a chance now. The political situation—if there was a devaluation—would be chaotic at best.

“Why now?” Russell asked as he sat down.

“The government can’t make the payment on a dollar loan coming due next week—five hundred million,” Antonio explained. “They don’t have the reserves, and they can’t borrow any more because of the coffee crisis. The World Bank will provide a bailout package, but only if we submit to an IMF restructuring. Devaluation of the currency is the center-piece of the plan, of course. It’s supposed to make our coffee more competitive.”

“The whole country is bankrupt!” Senator Vallodalid said cheerfully. “Pretty soon we’ll be paying them to buy our coffee.” He raised his glass and smiled at Russell. He was drinking scotch out of a Waterford tumbler and wore a pink cravat. He looked like he was going to Cap Ferret, not facing a political and financial crisis.

“We were wondering what you thought we should do, young man? You seem to know all about these financial matters,” Valladolid said. “I just think they want cheap coffee.” All the men and the woman shook their heads in agreement. “After all, Europe and America are having a recession,” the senator said. “They want a bargain.”

“It’s criminal. It means we get even less for our coffee,” the young woman next to him said. She was a young human rights lawyer whom Madrid had selected because her good liberal credentials would steal votes from the more radical left elements. “It means the price for hard bean superior would be. . . .”

“About ten dollars a kilo,” Russell finished her sentence.

“That’s impossible. It can’t be allowed,” Madrid said.

“The unemployment rate will go to fifty percent if the IMF gets its way,” Russell said. “It will open the door again to the Communists.”

The devaluation would create a financial death spiral, Russell knew. It was essentially the same thing that had just happened to Argentina. Once the international currency speculators got wind of the IMF plan, they would drive the currency down even further. The government’s bonds would be worthless, and interest rates would skyrocket. Dollar reserves, so crucial to any modern banking system, would leave the country almost immediately as the rich pulled their dollars out of the country’s banks.

“My brother says that President Blanco has already approved,” Madrid said.

They were all looking at Russell. None of them had trained as economists.

“There has to be a solution,” Madrid said. “We can’t let the country slip away again.”

There was silence. Everyone in the room, including Russell, had lost someone in the war.

Russell looked at the faces in the lamplight. They were frightened. No one wanted another Argentina. No one wanted the Communists to come back as a political force. No one wanted more violence.

“The government could declare a debt payment holiday while they try to renegotiate with the creditors. Then maybe they could build reserves, defend the Quetzal. But if you declare a debt holiday, Guatemalan bonds are going to collapse. And new loans will be impossible to get, because the IMF will blacklist you. You can’t win…. There is no solution. The IMF and the World Bank hold all the cards. On the other hand, if they devalue there will be massive inflation and unemployment. I think the war will start all over. The reds are already making noises,” Russell said. “They’re probably talking to Castro in Havana right now. It’s their big chance to make a comeback. They’re probably praying for a devaluation.”

“It’s what the Americans want, isn’t it?” Valladolid said. “I mean, they want Selva to win. They don’t care if there’s political chaos. In fact, I think it serves their purpose. When has peace and prosperity served the colonists?” the old man said. “We’re finished. We were finished a long time ago.”

“Why don’t you stop blaming the fucking Americans for everything? They didn’t borrow the fucking money from Citibank and then steal it. They didn’t send it to accounts in Switzerland. And they didn’t stop you from investing here instead of sending your money out of the country for the last hundred years,” Russell said angrily. “That’s the problem with you people. You haven’t taken responsibility for your own damn country. Where are the factories, the highways, the railroads? You’re as much to blame as the Americans are, for Christ’s sake!”

The young woman lawyer stood up angrily. Madrid told her to sit down.

“He’s right,” Valladolid said. “He’s right. All of you have bank accounts in Miami. I know I do. That’s the horrible truth. We, the class that mattered here, when did we really believe in the country? The boy is right.”

Russell poured himself a glass of wine and went to the window. He felt ashamed of his outburst. The others started to talk about party politics. He listened for a while. Their internecine squabbles seemed ludicrous in the face of the economic crisis that would sweep them all away.

It was late. He drained his second glass of wine and walked back to the couch. Everyone had left but the Senator and Madrid. There was no consensus on how to face the devaluation. It looked as though Madrid’s coalition would break apart. A privatization of the telephone company, which had been the centerpiece of their platform, seemed impossible now. Who would want to buy it now, with the country in chaos?

“There’s one solution,” Russell said, coming back to the couch.

“Well, go ahead boy, don’t keep us in suspense,” the senator said.

“A coup,” he said. “We get rid of Blanco and take power. Ignore the IMF’s suggestions. Do it before the election. Then you privatize the telephone and the water and electricity companies. With the money you get, you defend the quetzal. It’s a gamble, but it might work. The international capital markets will love the privatization, and might just not sell the country’s debt off once they hear the plan. They certainly won’t care much about the coup, given how bad things are anyway. As long as we make it clear the new government is pro-business. . . . Interest rates might actually go down,” Russell said. “It’s a big gamble. But you’ll have to move quick. President Blanco has to go. And the army has to be brought to heel.” The two older men looked at him, open-mouthed.

“It might work, Rudy,” Madrid said finally. “Jesus . . . it just might work. We’ll hold elections in a year after the coup.”

“The embassy will come to Blanco’s defense,” Valladolid said. “But I like it. Blanco is a prick. I never liked the man,” the senator said.

“I think the telephone company alone is worth maybe a billion dollars. Let’s say in four months, you have five or six billion in the treasury. That’s enough. You wouldn’t have to devaluate,” Russell said. “You could start paying on the defaulted loans.”

“All we have to do is overthrow the military government,” Rudy said. “It’s child’s play . . . really!” They all laughed.

“Of course—because it’s Guatemala—they’ll try to kill us first,” Madrid said. “Because nobody in this fucking country can keep a secret!”

“We’re all like old ladies,” Rudy said, slapping Russell on the back, clearly excited by the idea of a coup.

“And what about Selva?” Madrid said. “He’s not just going to lie down and take this coup. He expects to win the election.”

“No. He’ll be a problem,” Russell said. “He’ll have to be arrested. . . . And I suppose sent out of the country. Or put in jail.” Russell looked at the old senator, who had sat back down. Valladolid was looking at Russell differently now.